We drove down the winding, sloping path, through a canopy of whirring, singing, scented bush to take my small family to their weekly "celestial festival". The old gold painted, low slung, Mercedes crunched its bottom one last time on the gravel of the 1 Kilometre drive before we finally reached the smooth grey blueness of the Sudwala road. Swiftly now, left, then across the smooth tarmac, through a gate and into the Macadamia plantation. Monkey families scoot across the path. The road runs out just before we reach a small breeze block, corrugated hut. It's Mass and I am here anyway, so my family ask me to keep them company. We wait near the Mercedes until the priest arrives in his battered Toyota. Everyone goes inside and standing together, the ceremony starts in the cool interior. The small building doubles as the school house and there are children's pictures in crayon showing scenes from the bible. The priest intones, and everyone answers back. My family in mumbled...
Left wing commentary from the heart and the head